Torchwood:ME
by Teagie227
Summary: Eomer thought there was enough strange creatures and supernatural occurences in Middle Earth. He was wrong. And now, a gut-wrenchingly familiar face must unwillingly show him that there is so, so much more. It had been a long time since Jack Harkness heard anything from the Middle Earth Torchwoods. PLEASE READ A/N! ON HIATUS.
1. Torchwood:Gondor Pt-1 Ch-1

**For those of you who've read my other Grima fics, oops, I did it again. I think I may have a problem.**

**This is a Torchwood/Lord of the Rings crossover I moved to this spot to get a wider readership. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE A TORCHWOOD FAN TO READ THIS. The influence is very under the radar and still readable if you don't know much about Torchwood.**

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own the fandoms or characters and all that jazz. Except Lucian. Lucian's mine, stay away from my baby! (And all the other obvious stock characters.)**

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Torchwood Gondor: Part 1

Two weeks after Carys O'Donnach was murdered Captain Faramir of Gondor arrived at a rather late hour to the kingdom of Rohan. As partaining to tradition he led his horse to a rather open corral and set it free withing rather than tying it up. Rohan loved it's horses so much it was touching, and sometimes quite creepy. He was soaking wet, a storm system was presently passing over the known part of Middle Earth and spanned at least three countries at the moment. The corral being in the back, he crept back around Edoras to the front steps to find a familiar looking sentry standing guard rather faithfully at the door. It was too dark to tell who, but Faramir knew him, that much could be gathered by his voice.

"Faramir? That you? What the Hell are you doing here?" The guard moved to sheild his eyes as if it was very bright outside and the young captain had been silhouetted by the sunlight. It was at least three in the morning. Faramir stood rigid and nervous as Hell.

"I need to see King Eomer immediately, please. It's urgent, it's a code black."

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"To be honest with you, I never thought it would come to this." Eomer looked exhausted, he reached up and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. Faramir gave him a moment to compose himself at this late hour.

"Well, you asked me so kindly to contact you if I ever recieved word of anyone at all who went by the first name Grima. Two weeks ago there was a murder in one of the lower rings of Minas Tirith, one of our liaisons there said she saw a few suspicious persons, all in black, circling around the body like vultures and liberal use of the name, in whatever order, 'Commander Grima Constantine'. She reported it to me and I figured I'd have a look in the Library, owing to the fact that Minas Tirith has the largest collection of files on people living in Middle Earth and-" Whilst speaking, the Captain was rubbing the back of his neck nervously, part anticipating, and part fearing his brother-in-law's reaction to the discovery that the most notorious public enemy of his kingdom since Saruman's death may yet be alive. Before he could cut to the chase, the King interrupted him, saying,

"Faramir, look, I don't know any Grima who goes by the name of 'Constantine', but thank you for your enthusiasm. Although, I certainly hope you catch the murderer." Eomer sighed and made to get up from where he was seated. "Would you like me to check and see if there's a room ready for you?"

"Brother, please," Faramir held up his hand. It always was funny to our dear King, the way Faramir called him 'brother', but at this particular moment, in this context, it was not funny to Eomer at all. It was in fact quite alarming. "Here's his file." A stack of parchment was thrown down upon the tea table, loaded with reports and sketches that looked rather familiar. "Comm. Grima Constantine, son of Galmod Constantine II, the mayor of Carysdul: a rather large city in the North in a country called Andoerhalle, I'm told. It says in those files he was born in Carysdul, had a fairly normal childhood, albeit he accidentally killed his eldest brother. At age 24, he's said to have left the city to become head chancellor to King Theoden of Rohan."

Eomer chortled darkly, it was hardly even funny. After all this time and energy that went into cleansing the world of darkness, it endured. "So it really is him."

Faramir nodded rigidly. "Reported missing and presumed dead at age 38. Though his body was never found, all circumstantial evidence pointed to his death. Or at least, that's what the researchers thought. It's very hard to get shot three times and walk away from it."

Eomer nodded, he would never show his shock outright. He stood up slowly and retired for the second time that night with hardly a word. The next day, however, when Faramir made to depart for his homeland, his dear brother-in-law said to him, "If this is real, and I certainly hope it's not, if he turns out to be alive, you know where you can send him if justice needs to be done. His folly is concerning us, Faramir, not Gondor. Until it is proven he committed any crime, presumably so, his quarrel is with us. Good luck."

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Getting inside the castle was easy enough, he knew every secret hallway, every hidey hole in that castle, he needn't face any uneccessary disturbances to the kingdom. Finding his targeted king was much harder. Especially when having to dodge the servants. If anyone at all knew he was here, word would spread like wildfire and in under a minute he would be handcuffed to a bedpost in the basement, and _not _in a good way. As his father always said, "If you want to know everything that goes on in a building, make friends with a servant. They see more than you think."

After about an hour, he found who he was looking for in the palace library, which was not so much a library as it was a sitting room with about 15 books thrown haphazardly on the mantle of the fireplace which stood directly before the door. If a person were to walk straight forward from the entrance, they would find themselves to be unfortunately caught aflame. Eomer didn't notice him, and with shaking hands he withdrew some paper from his breastpocket.

"Sir." Grima adressed his formermaster.

Eomer glanced up from his tome, completely not caught unawares, as if he had been expecting this for some time now. The older man crossed the room and made to hand the new King of Rohan the peice of paper he was holding, and, speaking so quickly that he was almost incomprehensible, said, "I intercepted this message for you on my way, forgive me, but it would not have achaived it's goal before I reached my destination, I move much faster than the mail service around here." Eomer sat up a bit, but did not stand, and taking it from Grima, read it over:

_Eomer,_

_I trust this note has arrived in your care safely. If it has reached it's destination in time, it will be two days before a very old enemy of yours rides into your clutches. It was rather odd, actually. He turned himself into me, stating wildly that he knew I was after him, and that he "had eyes and ears everywhere". Then he stated he'd be leaving for Edoras the next morning. Anyway, if he's a man of his word, which I gather he really isn't, but if he is, he should be headed your way. I would not count it much a loss if he were to go missing a second time at any rate._

_Best of Luck,_

_Capt. Faramir of Gondor._

"Hardly any use." Eomer mused aloud as if in the company of an old friend, or as if Grima was not even there. Taking advantage of the silence, the two men sized each other up. Amazing how a person could change in only two years. Eomer noticed Grima stood up a little taller, wore more form-fitting clothes, he looked cleaner. He was still skinny and rather short comparitively to every frame of reference Eomer had come in contact with. Had he not known better, he would have presumed him to be a common man, had it not been for his eyes, which still betrayed his true personality as a wild, reckless, and godless man.

Grima noticed much more. Eomer was less opaque then he. He had since the last time Grima saw him, grown a full beard. He wore a crudley constructed wedding ring, hadn't been sleeping well for the past few weeks at least, practiced ambidextrosity, taken up smoking, and rode out on the moor less often nowadays. Grima was very good at seeing through people.

Finally, Eomer spoke.

"What are you doing still alive?"

"Am I supposed to be dead?" Grima shifted uncomfortably in confusion as his eyes dashed about.

"Yes." The King said simply.

"Well, then, at any rate, I'm terribly sorry for living."

"How'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Live." Eomer waited for a response, but Grima simply stood in the center of the room with a rigid austerity. It was taking all his self control not to kill the bastard right there with his bare hands. But he wanted answers from the man before he killed him. He shook his head, knowing that question wouldn't be answered and tried something else. "Do you smoke?" Eomer asked with the tightness of self-control.

"No, sir."

With feigned casuality, he replied, "Really? Why ever not?"

"I've a bad hip."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's got nothing to do with anything, I was simply scrambling for an excuse."

"Please, sit."

"No."

"What about your bad hip?"

"It got better."

A pregnant silence came to the forefront of the conversation, followed by, "Faramir tells me his liaison found you and some accomplices at the scene of a suspicious murder."

Grima slackened and sighed with exasperation. "Ah, yes, perhaps I should mention, _we_ didn't kill her. And, are not all murders suspicious?"

"I hate it when people talk in riddles. Now, let's try the secind question again, How'd you live?"

Grima didn't wanted to push it, he didn't want to answer in more riddles, put himself in jeopardy with this man who was sure to eventually try to kill him sooner than was imminent. But all the poor wretch could think to say was, "It wasn't my time."

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**Thoughts so far?**


	2. Torchwood:Gondor Pt-1 Ch-2

Torchwood: Gondor Part 1

'When I died, all there was was darkness. My father always told me there was a place to go after death, but then again, my father was a liar, like me, and his father. I never knew an older man than my grandfather, but I assume his father was a liar too. It runs in the family. Or perhaps I'm just a horrible person and do not deserve the place. This is also a likely explaination. What was only minutes seemed like days. While stuck in my own Hell of solitude I was met with a younger, rather handsome and strangely dressed man.

'"Who are you?" I asked.

'"Captain Jack Harkness, and who are you?" He smiled wildly, this struck me as odd because normally, people don't get excited about being dead. I didn't tell him my name, but instead asked him what he was doing there.

'"I died."

'"That's... not what I meant. Why _here._"

'"I _can't _die. Not all the way."

'"Right."

'"I'm a fixed point in time. I'm impossible. I can never die, so I don't have a place like this," He motioned to the nothingness around us. "Of my own. So," He looked quickly at his wrist. "Won't be long now."

'"Until what?"

'"Until I go back." He said, then scooted a little closer to me and asked me what my story was. And I told him. Everything. And he seemed to understand all of my anger and regret. He never once got angry at hearing the way I handled things. And then he told me there was still hope for me, that I wasn't completely dead, that I could go back and change things in my life. He told me about what he does for a living. You wouldn't even believe me if I told you. But I'll tell you anyway. He, and his team, go around some city on another planet, investigating things related to beings from space, and something about a rift in time and space where things bleed through, he explained it to me it makes a lot more sense with him, I'm not very good at explaining things.' Grima ended his story, out of breath and rather fidgety. After telling Eomer it wasn't his time to die, he'd finally sat down and attempted to tell him why.

"You're telling me you were sent back to the living world by a man from a different planet so you could investigate murders commited by things that fall out of the sky?"

Grima sighed. "Well, yes, minus the alien part. See, this underdeveloped planet isn't a huge interest to other specieses, or so he tells me. I'm now head of the Gondorian Torchwood, we focus more on the supernatural."

Eomer picked up a dagger immediately after Grima finished his sentence and pointed it at the man's neck. "Why should I believe you at all?" He growled.

"I can show you, if you like." The smaller man said, his voice oozed with untrustworthiness. Despite his current appearance his dispostion had lost none of it's slimy lack of appeal as far as the King was concerned. Eomer didn't budge, Grima stayed seated. "You really would, wouldn't you?"

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. The two men stared each other down for what felt like eons, and finally each relaxed at seemingly the exact same time.

"Look, I know, I was total shit to you, and your family. And I'm sorry." Grima put his hands up and took a deep breath.

"No you not. I have a very hard time beleiving that. You're not sorry." Eomer squinted.

"Alright, you caught me again. And I'm not going to give you the whole, 'I've changed, I'm a different person now' speech. Because that's bullshit and I beleive you're smarter than that. What I am going to do, however, is stay away from you and your family, and lay low the same way I have been for the past two years, if you let me go. Deal?" Grima leant forward and explained this with a breathy laugh.

"No, no deal." Eomer made to stand up and Grima visibly tensed. "Fisrt, you explain to me what the Hell a Torchwood is and _then _you can go."

"Alright. You win."

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"I thought Torchwood was in Gondor."

"It is."

"Then we're going the wrong way, you fucking idiot." They were still in Rohan, due Southwest in the pitch dark of midnight.

"Don't think I didn't read that letter Faramir sent you," Grima turned his horse around, voice was laced with malice, Eomer's hand ventured to the sword he kept by his side at all time when out of the palace. "And when I said I have eyes and ears everywhere, I meant it. I don't _have_ to take you halfway across the world to give you answers" He turned back around and all but ran off.

"You've got spies on me?" Eomer shouted after him, speeding his horse up to a canter.

"Not spies." Grima said over the din of horse hooves.

He stopped in front of the Fangorn Forest, and walked over to a rather largely trunked tree.

"What's this?" Eomer asked as his guide knocked timidly on the tree a few times, and a door swung open to reveal a small and poorly lit front room.

"It's Torchwood Rohan."

"Mr. Constantine." A female voice acknowledged from within. Grima walked further in, descending two or three steps at the entrance while Eomer hung by the door. Further back in the room was yet another door, vast, and seemed to be made of metal. The woman eyed Eomer warily.

"Who's that?"

"That, Madame Dwennon, would be you King, so I suggest you lose the attitude because it just so happens he has quite the temper."

"I do not have a temper!" Eomer was close to shouting.

Grima tried not to laugh, the woman named Dwennon stared at him, relatively uninterested, and pressed a glowing circle attached to the wall, the metal door opened with a buzz and Grima, a little color in his cheeks from holding in his amusement, stepped through. Eomer crossed the primary threshold and walked through the door as well.

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**Yay! Thanks for reading! Get ready to meet Torchwood Rohan next time!**


	3. Torchwood:Rohan Pt-1 Ch-3

Torchwood: Rohan Part 1

Upon being 'buzzed in', as Grima would later explain it to Eomer, the two walked into a vast room the like of which Eomer had never seen. It was filled with gadgets and beakers and lights he couldn't even explain, specimens unknown to humankind on the wall and in glass cases, submerged in some brine-like substance. At first he was weary, but he had confidence in his combat skills and immediatley regained his security upon seeing who would be his competition during a hypothetical ambush. The crew that worked there was far too small for anything Eomer could assume they did with their lives. It was made of six people, and at that rate, two of them were women.

"You should consider yourself lucky, sir, your country harbors the second biggest Torchwood." Grima whispered out the side of his mouth.

"Ah, really?" Eomer did feel as if he should at least act happy, even though, and much to his annoyance, he still had no solid idea what Torchwood did and was in the company of a maniac. But that was Grima for him, wishy washy to the point of fault. In fact, in Eomer's concern, Grima did everything to the point of fault. "Where's the largest?" He could scarcely get the words out of his mouth when the woman who was present, that Dwennon girl still in the poor excuse for a foyer, shrieked, "Constantine!" and in effect, all but tackled Grima, throwing her arms around his neck and almost dragging him to the floor due to her height. Her toes barely touched the floor. For a moment, he simply stood there awkwardly, unsure where to put his hands, and then placed them on her upper back and hugged back a bit before straightening up and loosing her.

"The biggest is in Carysdul." The woman interjected into the conversation without invite, not taking her eyes off Grima's face for a moment, then returning to work.

_Of course. _Eomer thought sarcastically.

"Oi, there." Some fair skinned, black haired man stepped out from behind a wall. He, upon reflection by our dear protaganist King, looked rather like a carbon copy of Grima at a younger and handsomer period in life. "Grima, how's the kid?"

At this point, Grima was running about the headquarters, rifling through files and expiriments, recent reports, and the like. "Kid's fine," He said breathlessly.

"Kid? What kid?"

"Not important." The man dismissed. "Eomer, meet my brother, Lucian, this is the King of Rohan."

The younger man nodded towards the man as if he was tipping a hat at Eomer, regardless of his blatant lack of a hat. "Pleasure to meet you sir. I assume my brother's told you about our job."

"Vaguely." Eomer continued to stare at Lucian in awe. He couldn't remember the first time he ever saw Grima. He didn't even know Grima came to Rohan from far away, he thought Grima was always there. And he wondered if the former chancellor ever looked like his brother, and what had happened to the man. Lucian shifted uncomfortably, and Eomer snapped back into reality. "Sorry, it's just, you two look exaclty like each other. Do all Carysambians look like that?"

The Constantine brothers froze and looked at the King, then to each other in puzzlement. Finally, Lucian spoke, with little good intent, "Essentially, yes."

"But, of course, always think about what you must look like to my people. Some, giant, pink and yellow monster, I'd say," Grima explained to Eomer before he said one more jeopardizing slur in Lucian's presence. For at least a year and a half, Lucian wouldn't even talk to Grima, because he knew of his brother's transgressions. And, holding up to some notion of Carysambian honor, did not want anyone from the city associated with his brother. Grima, however was able to diffuse the discrepencies and ostracization which grew between he and his brother by proving that nearly everyone in Middle Earth thought him to be dead. Grima went back to snooping through the files and added, out of Eomer's hearing range, "For God's sake, you'd make the children cry."

The rest of the crew introduced themselves as Nicolai (who looked for all faith like a half-goblin), Adalia, Elfwyn, and Price.

Lucian walked over to his brother and stood a little behind him.

"So, any new cases?" Grima asked, not looking up from the abandoned desk, while the rest of the Torchwood team went about what Eomer could only assume what their business.

"Yeah, actually. I know, surprise, we never have anything new around here. But recently we've been having a long string of rather violent and unusual murders. All victims are people found in places they have no reason to be, and they all look like they've been... sucked dry, basically."

"It's all a bit puzzling, isn't it?" Grima mused out loud. "Because it's happening in Gondor as well, and I received reports from all the others, the only one who hasn't contacted me is Torchwood Mordor, and nothing ever happens there. They're all mad. Then again, we did stick them with the Dimension Core of all people, but still; they're all mad."

"You have a Torchwood posted in Mordor?" Given to the apperance of this ragtag group, Eomer could only imagine who, or what they had stationed at Torchwood _Mordor._

"Yeah, full of crazies." Grima straightened up from being hunkered down over his brother's desk, his words not doing anything to calm the King's alarm- quite literally on purpose- spread his arms out and smiled wildly, saying, "There's one in every family!"


	4. Torchwood:Rohan Pt-2 Ch-4

Torchwood: Rohan Part 1

Eomer left the Torchwood base in quite the tizzy. He felt fine about musing to himself, however, given to the fact that Grima stayed behind and abandoned the King to find his own way back to Edoras. Inside, Lucian swiped the files of recent reports from his older brother and moved them to a new location, stabbing the stacks of paper and peircing them clean through to attach to the desk, with a switchblade as their adhesive in a fit of anger.

"What the Hell were you thinking? Exposing us like that?" Lucian kept his face turned away from Grima, assulting the desk with a knuckle-whitening grip. Contrary to usual norms, Lucian, although being younger, was quite a bit larger than Grima ever since finishing puberty; and was arguably, until he moved to Rohan, of course, the scariest person Grima had ever encountered. "I'm going to hit you."

The man addressed simply laughed in a vain attempt to disguise his alarm. "Relax, he's an idiot. The good Captian gave me the mix for Retcon, you've got a labratory, I'll just get Arjia to slip it in his drink or something before he has the chance to tell anyone."

"Grima, I don't know how it works for you over in Gondor, but around here we try to keep the Retcon use to a minimum." Nicolai put a hand on Lucian's shoulder in an effort to calm him down, and Lucian did, in fact, relax a bit.

"Why'd you bring him here in the first place, anyway, man?" Lucian had turned around and could once again look at his brother's face.

"He demanded I tell him, or show him, what Torchwood is." Against popular belief, Grima himself was still trying to figure out what this whole Torchwood thing was about, how to fight the perpetrators of the strange occurences, whether he was leading them right. He could never tell them. They looked to him for answers, they trusted his judgement. And his number one rule was never let in a stranger.

"And you agreed?" Elfwyn seemed skeptical. Elfwyn was always skeptical.

"You don't know the whole story. I owed him that much, at least." Grima said. "But now I've fulfilled his wishes and I owe him nothing. So, Retcon it is then?" He looked at the Rohan team and, upon not recieving an answer, he retired to the lab to make up the chemical.

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Weeks later, Eomer came back from a rather late run with his horse. Stabling a horse for the night was something of a ritual in Rohan. They were, after all, the 'Horse Lords', and conducted themselves as such. It was growing rather dark by the time he and his faithful friend reached the stables, but he thought nothing of it, really. He also thought little of the din that came from within the stables themselves. Unlocking the doors, he attempted to lead his horse in, which in turn reared back and bayed loudly at the thought of going inside. He dragged the stallion inside, exerting all his strength, and upon finally getting the damned thing inside, a soft hissing noise startled him.

In the dark, he couldn't see a thing, and all he could hear was the alarm of the horses and that awful, awful noise, and the source of the noise was _moving_. It was getting closer and closer. That was the first moment Eomer ever felt afraid for his life. Sure, he'd been to battle, fought his enemies, and yes, it was scary. But at this moment he realized he didn't know what fear really was. During the war he could see his enemies, and they didn't intimidate him; but here he was in the pitch black, a hissing entity getting near, the horses going nuts, he had his sword, but it wouldn't do much harm to his enemy if Eomer couldn't see it.

He swore he could feel it's breath.

A voice called out, "Get out! Now!"

Suddenly, the door was pushed open, and in his daze, all Eomer saw was moonlight, and the ground beneath his feet, he felt his knees give out and his horse ran away. There was the heat of fire and the screams of someone, or something. The saviour of the darkness ran out soon after, face wrapped up in a black scarf to conceal his face. Our King's saviour, dear reader, was none but Lucian himself.

"Fuck! My horse!" Eomer scrambled to get up and chase after him, but Lucian bolted in his path.

"The horse'll come back. My brother tells me they always do."

"Who's your brother?"

Lucian stepped around the King, picked up Eomer's sword which had fallen, and walked back into the stables. Eomer quickly realized this was the source of the fire.

"The stables!"

The man, who remained a mystery to our King, stayed silent, still. He pushed through the door and Eomer followed in a frenzy. He entered to find the ugliest creature he'd ever seen, something of a man and bird, but for all the majesty this combination comes across as, was bald in patches, built like a troll, with great grotesque wings, which were not stretched to their full girth, and a whip-like tail. It was encircled in flame, hissing and spitting and nearly pissing itself with rage.

"What is _that?_"

"Leech Harpie." The man answered simply. "Been tracking it for ages."

Hiding the sword behind his back, Lucian reached out to the Harpie, which suspiciously sniffed at his hand, and without warning, he grabbed by the little hair it had, and chopped its head clean off, the Harpie barely able to scream in agony befor crumpling to the ground, a black smoke rising from the fire around it and engulfing the body and it's head, which had been carelessly tossed atop of it by it's murderer. The fire and the body disappeared.

"Wha-?"

"Close your jaw before you start catching flies." Lucian said, turning around to face Eomer. Eomer noticed that the eyes looked very, very, familiar.

"Who are you?"

"Me? I'm Torchwood."

"What's a Torchwood?"

LUcian smiled beneath his scarf. The Retcon really had worked. With out a word he then left the King alone in the night.

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**Thanks a bunch for reading! Get ready to meet Torchwood Carysdul next!**


	5. Torchwood:Carysdul Pt-1 Ch-5

Torchwood: Carysdul Part 1

"So, in short, I figured, 'Hey! I was headed North anyway, so why not pay a little visit to the other Torchwoods while I'm at it?' And here I am, paying a visit to you, in turn." Grima sat in a well-lit, albeit plain room across the table from a pale skinned, dark-haired young man and his twin. One sat straight upright, possessing a rigid austere and severe disposition which was rumored to be unrivalled in the whole of the city. This was Invictus, yet another brother of his, and his twin, Benedictus. Benedictus was much more laxed about the gratuitous and unexpected visit of his elder brother.

"So, you're just doing some routine checkups on the Torchwoods?" Benedictus rested his elbows on the table top and leaned forward a little. Invictus squinted ever so slightly,

"Well, then you took your time getting here, then."

Grima laughed and put up his hands with feigned innocence. "What do you mean?"

"The mail moved faster than you, so that's saying something. I know why you're here. Which means you don't know the Lucian caught who he thinks is the culprit for all the murders." Invictus spoke quickly and rigidly, raising his eyebrows a bit when Grima blinked suprisedly at him, the closest thing to sass Grima believed his brother to come to.

"Oh, really? What was it then?"

"No idea. He calls them 'Leech Harpies'. It isn't really catching on, as it were." Benedictus explained.

"You know how he gets sometimes, Ben." Grima smiled.

"So," Invictus interjected. "Since you're making your rounds on the Torchwoods, when are you going to pay a well overdue visit to Rivendell? Berlioz tells me they're running short on patience."

"Are you kidding me? I'm never going to Rivendell."

"Why not? All the elves are gone." Invictus cracked an amused smile.

"Hey! You don't know that!"

"He's right, you really don't." Benedictus turned to Invictus who laughed in turn.

"Oh, Ben, quit trying to defend our brother's illogical fear of elves and revel in the teasing with me."

"You're an asshole, Invictus." Grima smiled and leaned back in his chair. He missed this. He missed not being ostracized by his contemporaries. It had been a long time since he'd had a civil conversation with anyone that he actually enjoyed. In Rohan, he looked so different, and didn't speak any Rohirric whatsoever, the only person he really spoke to were those who had to speak to him. Alienation did wierd things to a man.

"So, Grim," Benedictus began. "Does father know you're here? Does mother?"

Grima frowned. "Neither of them. And I'd like to keep it that way."

"You have to face mother again sometime, brother." Invictus supported his twin.

"I'm grown, I've moved out of the house, I have a job, and I live on the other side of the world. I never have to face her again. And I doubt I will." He turned his face silently away from his brothers to look out the window of the Carysdul Torchwood headquarters, a perfect view of the city hall where his parents lived. There, he swore he saw the silhouette of a woman against the reddening light of night, The granite mountains around the city caused it to become dark earlier within them. They sparkled in the dusklight. Grima thought, _That could be my mother._

After what happened to Gareth, Grima's mother hardly spoke to him again. She did not forgive easily, this was where he learned how to hold a grudge. His father told him to. This was something Grima never understood; how angry his mother was with him and how angry she undoubtedly still was, when Galmod was the one who gave the order. Gareth had... rebelled, Galmod did not like it, Gareth was killed. That was how it always was in Carysdul. His mother knew. But Gareth was hers, he was more hers than her other sons. He was her golden boy, he was her light and she was determined for him to be her salvation. At 24, when he was commissioned to leave for Rohan, he was more than happy to get away.

"You must see father, then. At least see him. He misses you. Especially now that the sun is setting on his time here." Benedictus reached forward to touch Grima's arm but he moved away.

"That concerns me no more than it does you. We are Carysambian and we are born old." The man said coldly.

Invictus looked over at his twin. "Ben, I think you broke our brother." The two laughed nervously and Grima hardly cracked a smile. "Please, brother."

**O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O**

**Bleh, it was short, sorry about that. Thanks for reading!**

**Seriously, don't hesitate to review. It's like crack to me.**


	6. Torchwood:Carysdul Pt-1Gondor Pt-2

Torchwood: Carysdul Part 1

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"Grima, I am told you came here on a horse." Galmod tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair thoughtfully, eyeing his son as a cat would eye a small insect.

"Yes, father." Grima bowed his head from his place on the ground and looked up at Galmod, expressionless.

"How was that?" He asked. Horses were an odd creature to those in the North. They used creatures called Gragars for mobility, great brutes particularly of the North.

Grima had since grown accustomed to riding a horse. Horse, Gragar, it made no difference to him. Not anymore. So he willed himself to quickly think back to his first time learning to ride. Believe it or not, Eomer had taught him. They used to befriend each other. The boy was only 17, teaching a full-grown man to ride. He could come up with only one word, "Uncomfortable."

"Why have you come here, Grima?"

"For the twins."

"To take them?"

"To visit, only, and then I will be on my way."

"Good. Your mother is slowly reaching a very fragile age and I do not want her upset."

"Yes, father, I know."

"The twins sent you here, didn't they? You did not come of your own accord." Galmod's eyes narrowed.

"That is right."

If Grima didn't know any better, he would think Galmod looked hurt. But instead, the hurt changed to anger as quickly as it had appeared and the last words Grima ever heard from his father was, "Get out, Grima."

The younger man nodded his head rushedly and bustled out of the city hall, looking wildly around for his horse, which he struck furiously to sprint from the city. He thought he would never take brotherly advice again. They were wrong saying father wanted to see him. Surely he had been persuaded that Grima was at fault, for everything. Gareth's rebelliousness, Galmod's anger, Gareth's death. It _was _his fault after all, when it all boiled down to the bare bones of the situation. Grima pushed down the memories of the words he had spoken to Gareth that night, of the secrets of the City which Galmod had shown him that Galmod had never shown Gareth. And what terrible secrets they were. Whispered rumors that should never become legend.

So the City wasted the lives that started rumors and any who believed them. His father, his horrible, horrible father had silenced a whole city and Grima vowed not to become like him. Yet he had, in a way, become exactly like his father. Stepping in with Saruman, Grima had tried to change the world too fast. What had he to show for it? Dozens of happy enemies who thought him dead, a dead King, and one man who would like nothing more than to cut his head off but for whatever reason let Grima continue living every time they met.

It was back to Gondor with him, now. He decided not to stop by Torchwood: Rohan this time. He knew now they were fine.

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Torchwood: Gondor Part 2

Four weeks after his departure from Carysdul he arrived at Gondor. Slowly sneaking the horse he stole from the city-wide stables back into the small building, he ascended the many stairs which led to the hidden headquarters of Torchwood: Gondor. It was very quiet, which was unusual but not ridiculously so. He walked into the foyer to find it unmanned and heard a soft laughter in the other room. He unlocked the door to the main base and walked in to see Adalia, Lucian, and Tern sitting at a table with none other than Eomer, the three former talking and laughing with each other and the latter looking absolutely ready to murder.

"Hey, Grima. We've got another one for you." Adalia shouted across the warehouse-like room.

"Another one what?" He stumbled over the words dumbly, making to go for the dagger he kept at his hip.

'Another guy who wants to kill you. It happens all the time, are you all right? Are you sick?" Lucian asked as Eomer stood and turned around with a sword in hand and this sick grin on his face.

"No, I'm fine... for now anyway." He backed up to the wall of the room and smiled at the lager man nervously.

"I remembered Torchwood. Your brother told me. And he definitely didn't leave out the part where you erased my memory." Eomer looked at his old enemy with downcast eyes. "You _bastard._" He snarled, coming after him, sword flashing in the dim light of the Torchwood base. The smaller man could, easily enough, nimbly dodge the heavy, slow swings of a sword before shouting,

"Wait!" Grima shouted, his voice filled the base. Eomer stopped for a split second, as if surprised a large sound could come out of a man Grima's size. This split second was long enough for him to say two things, "First of all, Eomer, let's talk about this before you come at me with heavy weaponry, and Second, Lucian, what the Hell are you doing here?"

"I fancied a visit to my child myself." Lucian stated, as if this was normal, as if he _belonged _with his family. Grima looked at his little brother incredulously, shaking his head.

"Do you have any idea what dad's-" He cut off, remembering Eomer's presence, trying to think of a better word than 'spies'. "Erm... sources... would do to me if they saw you here with her?" He indicated towards Adalia's direction.

"Look, I know, by your interpretation, I'm not 'allowed' to see her. But I don't care. You weren't here, and this is my _child _we're talking about here. My _family_."

The older man shook his head. "Hopeless." He muttered and turned to Eomer. "I'm sorry, you weren't supposed to get involved in any of this. I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me? By erasing my memory? Tell me, Grima how the Hell is that supposed to protect me? You're just the same way you were back at Rohan, conniving, wretched-" Eomer was on the verge of muttering to himself only.

"Because if you don't remember the secrets, then you don't get reeled in!" Grima interrupted. "You don't know this Torchwood stuff like I do. If you don't forget immediately, then it sucks you in. It _takes over_ your life. And even if you live away from it, it finds you, somehow. You'll see a translucent figure or a red-eyed woman on the streets and you'll _know_ that it wasn't just a trick of the light. You know things about the world that you would never believe had you not seen them yourself. And you _can't _share them with _anyone_."

"I doubt it's that horrible." Eomer scoffed.

A tense and pregnant silence followed, Tern shifted uncomfortably, and Lucian was breathing very deeply, as if to calm himself down, the silence was split by a sudden scream. A woman's scream, definitely, and in great peril. Eomer stiffened, and the four Torchwood agents sprung into action, pursuing the offending sound. In the darkness, they saw a person, they knew not which gender, it was hard to tell in this light, picking themselves off the ground. When the group tried to go to the person, it seemed as if a huge wave of repellant washed over them, keeping them away.

"Stay right there." A voice said, neither male nor female, raspy, and old sounding.

"Who are you?" Grima called out to the darkness.

"Darula."

"Sorry, perhaps I should clarify. _What_ are you?"

"I am an Orc." It said, a whisper in the night.

"All the Orcs were killed." Eomer chimed in, which earned him a hard look and a hand on his chest, almost pushing him away.

The Orc in the darkness scoffed. "Humans. It must be great to be so sure of yourselves. You are right, however. All the Orcs were killed. I am the spirit of an Orc. A memory. I talk only when I have a body. And then I leave the body, quite worse for the wear, which I feel so very _awful_ about." The voice behind was laced with sarcasm.

Lucian stepped forward, inches from the force field of invisible energy. "Worse for the wear, how?"

"Oh, I take almost everything with me. They look... sucked dry." The voice laughed cruelly.

"So then it was you," Adalia said. "Killing those people."

"Yes."

"Why?" Grima's eyes narrowed to no one's knowledge.

"To draw you. Because I have need of you. We all have need of you."

"For what?"

"You are specialists, Torchwood, are you not?"

"Yes."

"Then there is something that requires your expertise."

"What is it?"

The spirit seemed to take a deep breath, and began:

'Gil-Galad was an elvish King...'

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**I must forewarn you that most of the rest of this fic will take place in Gondor. Thanks for reading!**


	7. Blood Fued

Blood Fued

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"Gil-Galad was an elvish King. But before that, he was the Light. _The _Light. One of the three creators of the world. Surely you've heard the story, the story of the three brothers, the Light, the Dark, and the Energy. You could probably guess who the Dark is. Here's a hint, he tried to take over the world. But here's the thing, he tried to take over the world _too fast_. He didn't wait long enough."

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?" Grima sounded slightly angry. It was, in fact, an inconvenience. Yet part of him knew he should be happy since it was postponing the death match with Eomer that he undoubtedly would have to finish.

"It _means, _you idiot, that there was a prophecy, made after the Great Spirit Fued. It's not in your historical records, since the mortal beings are so adamant about not educating themselves. But the Elves know of it. Gil-Galad, the spirit, and Sauron, they... didn't get along very well and it's obvious why. The prophecy says that Galad and Sauron were to fight for control of the Earth, which would mean either its end or continuation. To prepare, Gil-Galad mixed his blood with the blood of a human and sent the offspring to Earth, more human than Light, your race, Grima. The Carysambians, as you know, came from the Light. He wanted to make an army out of you, but he decided that you weren't good enough. So he ditched your race, and let it go on thinking it was human, and he made the Elves, this time, more Light than human. And the army grew in secrecy. But it wasn't time yet when the Great War began. Now, Gil-Galad is angry that someone else killed his brother, that honor was not bestowed upon him, but upon a lowly Hobbit from some obscure little town in a meaningless country. He is angry now, wants to kill us all type of angry. So, you're Torchwood, Gil-Galad's a spirit. Stop it."

"How do you know all this? You are, after all, an Orc." Lucian sounded skeptical.

"I am a wayward spirit. You hear many things when you do not have a home. You must stop Gil-Galad from rising out of the spirit world."

Grima shook his head. "There's no way. There is no way we can kill Gil-Galad, he's too powerful."

"A Hobbit killed Sauron." Eomer put in. "A _Hobbit._"

"Yes, and he had to walk all the way across the known world to do it! And by the way this thing's talking we don't have that kind of time. We, in fact don't have any time at all!" Lucian yelled, a little too loud. This struck everyone who knew him well standing in the alleyway as odd. Lucian didn't lend himself easily to shouting in the streets like a madman.

A soft clicking noise filled the empty streets as the wind around the group picked up. The clicking noise was meant to be the odd laughter particular to the body Darula had possessed. She was, however, in a hurry to get home. And the team, plus Eomer, were so thwarted and confused by this new and very sudden job, that they left the dried out shell of a body where it was, and went home.

"We can't do this all by ourselves. Hell, we don't even know anything about this." Grima had ranted on about their situation of ignorance in the matter back at the base. Eomer stood, half-sitting on a wooden table, arms crossed, and a look of condescending joy at the fact that this man who was once so powerful over his King back at Rohan was now wallowing in all the problems he created.

"What are you going to do?" He asked.

"Well, for starters, you're going to wipe that look off your face or I'll do it for you, Lucian, you're going to leave before Dad kills me, and I'm going to the palace tomorrow to talk to our dear King about employing someone who _does _know about elf-lore. My sources tell me two very particular elves are coming for a visit soon. Elrond, for his daughter, and Legolas, for his friend. I'll give them a warm welcome, shall I?"


	8. Reunion

Reunion

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For Elrond, it was pleasant, to say the least, to see his daughter once again, and the same went for Legolas. After weeks of travel in the old world, the poor, imperfect world they had once dwelled in, familiar faces were a sight for sore eyes. They passed Lothlorien once, in fact, they went right through it. The mere absence of the elves had raped the forest of its outstanding grace. The wood, which once held golden leaves and kept them even in the winter, with all the blossoms' petal floating around and spreading a mixed, indiscernable yet pleasant scent now looked, smelled, and sounded just like any other forest. It seemed to them the lights had gone out.

A regular round of greetings were exchanged, before the party decided to sit in the King's hall to dine and speak with each other. They were joined later by Captain Faramir and his wife, Eowyn. A servant girl entered the room about an hour afterwards and stood politely in the corner for a break in the conversation.

"Your Highness," She began, once given permission to speak. "There's a group of people who wish to speak with you. One of them is a man who goes by the name of Constantine."

A barely muffled "Shit." Came out of the King's mouth and all who were seated with him looked to him in suprise. "Well, better late than never I suppose. Bring them all in. Strip them of their weapons first." The servant girl gave a slight bow and hurried out the door, bringing back with her a few minutes later, two disheveled Constantine boys, who stayed up three quarters of the night arguing on theories of what to do, an unnamed tawny haired sidekick, a woman, a child, and to every one's suprise...

"Eomer!" Eowyn shouted in surprise and ran to embrace her brother whom she rarely saw, either not realizing the company he was keeping or not recognizing the old enemy at first glance.

Legolas was not as easily fooled, his eyes narrowed and he stood up quickly. "Is that-"

"Yes." Aragorn hung his head when saying that, acting almost as if he were ashamed of the answer he had to give. Turning around, he continued with little gusto, "Grima, what do you want?"

"Grima?" Eowyn turned around to get a better look at the man she'd passed right by, her body tensing. Eomer, holding onto her so as not to cause a ruckus, looked straight at Aragorn.

"You knew he was alive."

"From the day he walked half-mutilated into my city, yes."

"And you didn't tell anyone."

"Well, you see," Grima interjected, not enjoying being left out of the fit going on before him. "None of you ever asked. As for what I want, Sir," He addressed Aragorn directly now, excluding everyone around them. "Is your elves. Actually, I need them. And I'll tell you why before you go all mountain troll on my ass." Grima held a pause up in the air for a moment and was met with nothing but confused stares, he sighed with exasperation and opened his mouth to speak again when Eowyn took a step towards Aragorn, ignoring her foe.

"You... lied to me... to all of us. You _assured_ us he was dead."

"Hey! Enough. First of all, lay off the man. It was for my sake he did this. He didn't want to. I made him do it." Grima nearly whispered yet his voice seemed to dominate he hall.

"No one can make you do anything." She crossed her arms and eyed Grima with a very old, stony hatred. And for the first time Eomer had ever seen, the man didn't seem afraid of her, he simply shifted his weight and said,

"Whatever floats your metaphorical boat. But second-"

"There are more important things going on here. We have a larger problem." Lucian stepped in between his brother and the young woman.

"You keep speaking of this larger problem and you have yet to tell them what it is, Lucian, Grima." Adalia said.

"Of course." Lucian turned to his big brother, used to him doing the talking and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Basically what it all boils down to, is that when this whole... ring... issue started, someone screwed the pooch on an age old elf prophecy that Sauron and Gil-Galad were meant to battle it out at the end but, no, a certain elderly pointy-hatted wizard had a Hobbit kill Sauron instead so now Gil-Galad pissed off, like, trying to destroy the world pissed off and he's trying to break out of the spirit world so he can do just that so we need help. Specifically from elves." And he told them every detail he could spare, with snippets of information coming from his team, plus Eomer, about what Darula had said to them all in the alley that night.

Afterwards there was a tense silence in which Aragorn just nodded.

"You're going to help him, aren't you, even after all this..." Eowyn stood up, trailing off, not sure what she meant to say. The King just looked up at her and nodded vaguely with a distracted look to his face.

"I have to. He's an expert. If what he says is true, which, since it's coming with verification from Eomer, it most likely is, we have a real issue. And if you want to know why I am going to help this man, it is because he is useful to me, only. After that fails to be true, we... have an agreement, so to speak."

Eowyn left the room.

A shadow seemed to pass over the sun for a moment, the rom darkened slightly while a wind began to blow, the window sounded like it was being unlatched. Grima looked around the room, half of his expression smiling and the other looking terrified. Legolas stood, and seemed ready to speak. Then suddenly happened to be overtaken by what outwardly looked like an imbalance of the humors, and fell straight to the floor, standing right back up before anyone even moved to help him out, smiling wildly.

"Wow, elf-bodies feel so _weird_ now! It's been so long since I was normal." He stated with enthusiasm.

Grima's eyes narrowed. "Darula."

"What?"

"Get out of him." Lucian demanded.

"Why?"

"Because," Grima smiled in a silky, dangerous manner. "The real Legolas is still inside that body and you're going to compress him to death."

"Oh?" Legolas's body made a fake pout, walking flambouyantly about the room to face everyone that was present in the Hall, all the while saying, "Pity. Another elf-life is in danger. But, they do give their lives so freely, though. So that they may continue to possess the Earth the way they have for the past couple hundred-thousands of years. But alas! Someone's going to have to crack their egg soon. And then who knows if they will be able to keep control of their perfect little universe? I am ashamed of myself for endangering a brother such as this man."

"Get out."

Elrond spoke for the first time. "What is he talking about?" Grima and Lucian stood there, exchanged a meaningful glance towards each other and remained silent. "Grima?"

"Haven't you heard?" Darula sauntered up to Elrond, standing uncomfortably close. "Gil-Galad made up these poor little bastards before you. He wanted a Light-human race for himself so he made them but them they weren't good enough so he made you. Elves. His bastard sons of the Light. You were born with a sense of entitlement and that is why the Earth is yours. But the thing is..." Darula chuckled to itself. "There are more of _them_," It jutted Legolas's thumb in the Constantine's direction. "And they were here first. But if you want to keep hold of your precious worldview, I suggest you help them out a bit." And as quickly as Legolas was overcome, Darula left, with nothing but a memory in the minds of those who had experienced it and an extremely confused elf picking himself up off the ground.

**O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O**

**Thanks for reading!**


	9. Plan

"so, you are telling me that there was an _Orc_, _inside_ my body?" Legolas sipped at the water which had been given to him.

"That's... not the point." Lucian waved off the remark and opened his mouth to speak again.

"Then, what, exactly, is the point?" Elrond stepped aggressively forward, coming to rest his hands on the back of Legolas's seat.

"We were going to get to that. But we were..." Lucian said, looking over at his brother, who stood in the corner of the Hall and seemed to be arguing with the two Kings present and the Captian of the guard. _Arguing, _Lucian thought,_ or talking his way out of something_. Adalia had left, already, Tern followed shortly after. Arwen had gone to speak to Eowyn. That left just the seven men, himself, Grima, Elrond, Legolas, Aragorn, Eomer, and Faramir. "We were deterred. Believe me, we did not plan to see Darula again."

"And it is very convenient, is it not?" Elrond began. "That your family is not exactly known for it's honesty and suddenly, you have been commissioned to save this world and all with the insightful help of a species who once tried to destroy the world itself."

Lucian put his head down and ran his fingers through his raven colored hair. "Fighting with elves is useless, isn't it?"

Elrond didn't move. "Quite."

Grima was not having near as easy a time resolving his issue. "All I'm saying, is I need a game plan. And it would be a lot easier if I had a little assistance."

"I've given you as much assistance as you deserve Grima. The help of the elves is not mine to give you." Aragorn narrowed his eyes.

"It could be." He said. And it was, in fact, the truth. In all actuality, Elrond was fond of his son-in-law, and would likely agree, if Aragorn had just asked. Yet even then, it would have been a sleazy move to pull, and the King thought giving the men in question an unpersuaded choice would suit him better.

So instead of agreeing, he said, "You know, you should probably show some respect for my personal relationships. Your life is, after all, in my hands." Grima looked up at the man, who was towering over him, then to Eomer, standing directly next to him, expressionless, and smiled.

"Very well, I'll do the whole thing myself. Of course, some access to your library would be very advantageous, if you please." The smaller man smiled grimily.

"Very well. Warn me, before you come. I'm afraid you gave some of us quite a scare." Aragorn said, hinting, undoubtedly, at Eowyn's reaction at seeing him alive. After all these years, the stuff of her nightmares had become once again reality. It was walking and breathing.

Grima nodded, knowingly, and tilted his head to Lucian, who stood. He looked back at Adalia, not knowing where Tern went, but of course, no one ever knew where Tern went. She nodded to him politely, and sent the child to Lucian, staying where she was.

She hadn't told Grima, but assumed he knew by that look that she had decided to preform a bit of PR on patching up the cold feelings. After Lucian and Grima left, everyone looked at her expectantly, probably wondering when she was going to leave as well. She just shifted uncomfortably.

"So there's really nothing you can do to help us? Please, you do seem perfectly able to." Adalia asked the room.

"Have you any idea the damage he inflicted on an entire family, an entire country, Adalia?" Eomer inquired after a puzzled silence followed her question. She seemed entirely ignorant of the fact that Grima was, no matter how hard he tried, an evil man, in truth.

"No, and if you are indeed as keen on educating me as you seem, why don't you? Grima, he, he doesn't talk about the past, ever. He always talks of the future, forward thinker he is. And it's all very confusing when he brings trouble from the old country into the new, and his life is being threatened by kings and famous elves others could only dream of knowing. Was he an important man?" She asked.

"Moderately, yes. Walk with me, if you please." Eomer bid a quick farewell to his old friends and took her outside. There, on the way back to the headquarters, he told her everything. About his predecessor, about Saruman, about his sister, everything. When finally he finished, they had reached the door to the Institute. She stood in front of the door, quiet. Then she said, barely a whisper,

"I have to get my child away from that man." And so she went inside the headquarters, not another word said, and Eomer never saw her again. And apperently, neither did Grima, and neither did Lucian.

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"Anything new, Grima?"

"I haven't got shit, you?"

"Nothing Darula hasn't already told us. There has got to be some way to, I don't know, summon a spirit or something? Is there anyway we can... talk to Gil-Gaalad? I know it sounds crazy, but-" Lucian stopped talking, reading through a new stack of papers.

"Lucian, no one's ever stopped the end of the world by talking." Tern threw a stack of papers across the library, earning a rebuking slap on the head from Grima, who crossed the room to pick up the papers that had been cast aside.

"Anybody know where Adalia went? Lucian? Tern?"

Lucian shook his head. "She took the kid with her and everything. Haven't heard from her in days."

Grima threw himself on on one of the chairs and sighed heavily. "Wish we could have another go at the elves. They left already, didn't they?" He asked, sounding slightly downtrodden. Lucian continued to read.

"That's what the word on the street says."

"And you made doubly sure?"

"Snuck into Eomer's guest room in the middle of the night and everything. The works."

"Oh, really, and how'd he react to that."

"He almost killed me. He thought I was you."

"Probably thought I was there to kill him or something."

"Yeah, deadly assassin that you are."

Grima laughed quietly.

"Wait, Grima, come look at this." Tern twisted his seat around to face his boss and handed over a writing peice, clearly an elf writing in the common tongue.

Grima read aloud, "'An elf-spirit, after having moved on to the afterlife, can be summoned when symbols, drawn in the style of anarchic and orcish warding, are drawn on the walls in any visible medium of choice, preferably something dark, or blue. In Tengwar, a man must recite the words to any of the darker toned elvish proverbs of his choosing at exactly midnight, then say the spirit name five times. This should contain the spirit for an undetermined amount of time, depending on the strength. Take care that all symbols are completed. A break in the line could ruin everything.' Well, that's great. Just one question, what the Hell is orcish warding supposed to be? And how do we make it?"

As far as I can see, there's only one thing we can do." Lucian sat on a table. "We _look _for Gil-Galad, and wait for Darula to come back and see why we haven't done anything yet. It's not like we can call her."

"I hate waiting."


	10. Pursuit

"You'll forgive me, my King, if I ask what may seem a very personal question?" Eowyn began. They had this one moment alone, and Aragorn was almost sure she had followed him down the corridors to ask him the one question that was pressing into everyone's mind,

_Why is Grima Wormtongue still alive?_

"Of course." He tensed thoroughly.

"Why?"

"Because. I had work for him. Because I have willed it."

"He is horrible and conniving and hardly worth a moment of your time."

"Yes, I know."

"Then why?"

He took a step forward from across the room, and walked up to her, with each step becoming more physically imposing. "You know I would ask you why you care so much what he does with his life. I mean, he is, after all, a bad memory for you."

"Because he has hurt me, he has endangered my family and I do wish he was dead. It would give me much less heartache to know that."

"Forget him, then. But he will stay alive now, because he has an important job wether you like it or not."

"Then why did you not assist him?"

"Because we hate each other. But he stays alive."

Eowyn opened her mouth and seemed ready to say more, but instead just nodded, turned, and walked away looking very, very confused.

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Back in the palace library, the Torchwood team continued to research in the vicinity which they found the paper containing summoning instructions. Unsure of what they were looking for, they made pile after pile of relevant information. Pages about how to spot supernatural seals breaking, spirits haunting places, &c.

Lucian sat at one of the desks with his head down, out cold. It had been days since any of them had properly slept. Most of the time they took shifts, one or two sleeping in a corner while the rest scoured the files. A King's library was a lot of content to go through.

"You lot realize you aren't going to get Gil-Galad reading books, right?" A young girl was coming down the staircase, long dark brown hair cascading down her shoulders, and a hardly attractive look of condescendence on her face. She smirked at the befuddled looks she was met with, turned around and began fondling the records near her.

"Do we know you?" Lucian, who turned out not to be asleep at all, made a muffled inquiry beneath his hair, falling over his folded arms like a straight black curtain.

"Of course you do!" She chirped, turning around, smiling, before Grima sighed.

"Darula, it would be great if you wouldn't play games with us, we don't really have time for it."

"You're one to talk! While you're over here trying to call Gil-Galad from the Other Side, he's already halfway across the world getting himself an army ready!"

"Since when? And where the Hell have you been while we've been working?" Tern looked up from his work.

"Well, I've been taking a vacation to Nowhereville while you dunderheads tried to find a solution to our little elf-infestation problem. But, you see, I was in the future, that's where I picked up this new meatsuit, and I began to see things changing around me, so I thought I'd come back and see how things were going."

"The future?" Lucian perked up, looking at her.

"Yeah, it's a lovely place, you should go there sometime if Gil-Galad doesn't kill us all and you have an energy-based orc spirit to take you there."

"What's up with the lady, then?" Grima asked. "Kind of an odd thing to come back as."

"Because, Grima, I'm a woman. And if you were a thousands of years old hag of an Orc woman and you could choose your own appearance don't tell me you wouldn't be on the same track I'm on."

"What? Really?"

"Come on, Grima, man," Lucian laughed. "Even I knew that. Hell, I flat out _told you._"

Grima sat in stunned silence. "I hadn't paid a bit of attention. Anyway, what's all this about Gil-Galad already being here? None of the other Torchwoods have reported anything unusual."

"That's because he's not within Torchwood range."

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The two elves, who had been absent until this time, landed on the shores of the Grey Havens. The docks were empty and silent. They thought, perhaps no one expected their return and therefore not a soul had waited up for them. But they reached the main city, and still an impression of silence hung in the air. But, soon, as if growing in strength, the sound of a congregation sounded through the city, woven between the trees of the forest.

They walked down the various walkways and catwalks, following the sound, definitely talking, but still barely perceptible.

"What do you think everyone is doing?" _Has someone died?_

"I... am not sure." It was only the third time in Elrond's life he'd ever not been sure about something. It was all very odd, though, that absolutely no one would be around the city.

Upon reaching the heart of the main city, however, they saw what could be described as quite a spectacle.

The whole Grey Havens population was gathered in one spot, looking intently at one elf-man, unfamiliar to either Elrond or Legolas, but he was indescribably beautiful in a way that almost enticed dread.

"So as you all see, I need your help. I, as your God, am displeased with Middle Earth belonging to the mortals. You must help me take it back. For you have held dominion over the land I created for you since the dawn of time." He said to them.

And to Elronds suprise, murmurs of agreement followed.

"Are you all mad?" He spoke out, and many turned to see him standing there. "We can't just take people's homes, no matter how entitled we feel to them." He was met only with looks of disapproval. They almost looked to be under a spell, save his wife, and in-laws, who came to him, saying,

"We've been trying to tell them this. Many seem unwanting to listen to reason. We have been told many times to keep our mouths shut." There was, for the first time, fear and sadness in Celeborn and Galadriel's eyes, Elrond drew Celebrain closer.

"As for that 'Dawn of Time' bit, I recall hearing something different from a certain Orc."

Gasps filled the group, and everyone turned back to Gil-Galad, a silence before he spoke was just enough for Elrond to hear Galadriel say to her husband, "This is not my father." And this was not the Gil-Galad Elrond knew either.

Gil-Galad smiled soothingly. "I cannot lie to you, my children. After the dawn of time, I created you. Before this was the Man-City Carysdul, but I did not like the way my light-man needed to build things through nature, not around it. So I made you then, my Sons of the Light. You would hold dominion over the forests and streams of the world, and you would therefore protect the Earth the way men could not. It was good, yes..."

Elrond turned to Legolas, "So it is, then what Grima and Orc say is true, we must warn our friends."

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"So where'd you say he is?!" Grima exclaimed as Darula began to lead them out of the city. He adjusted the pack he carried, full of essential tools, crackers, and various small-scale weapons.

"He's already in the Grey Havens, I told you." She huffed.

"In the Grey Havens. With all his own Children. That's just great. How do we stop him now?" Lucian almost lamented.

"One, we don't, because whether he gets the whole world or not, he's goin to kill all of _us_ anyway. It's Gil-Galad we're talking about, so any and all surviving Orcs and Goblins are first, and he's spent all this time working up the illusion that the Elves are the master race, the first to live on the Earth, so any evidence to the contrary goes next."

"Carysdul..." Grima trailed off.

"And anyone in it and of it's lineage. Two, at this point, all we can do is try to gather an army. I was hoping it wouldn't come to that."

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**Thanks for reading readers!**


	11. The Road

**Thanks for favoriting/following me people who did! It means a lot!**

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In a matter of a week, the traveling party was hardly three quarters to Rohan, travelling was a lot slower going when you had to talk to people. Of course, no one wanted to help out, no one wanted to do their part against Gil-Galad himself. And, in truth, Grima didn't blame them. Who, in their right mind would want to fight, maybe even die like that? It was an advantage that no one in any Torchwood affiliation was in their right mind. At least not from Grima's perception.

Lucian, who -even when the mother of his child took the boy away without a word and no parting note, nor any indication that she was leaving- seemed relatively unaffected by his current position.

Tern, well, who the Hell knew about Tern? The man never said a word about his past, avoided it at all costs, and once, when Grima, instisted on knowing for security's sake, got angry. He lashed out as his boss for asking such things.

Darula, she'd become something of an honorary member in the past week. But, Valar knows what she did in her spare time when she was alive. And yet, even in this Orc, something twisted and... wrong, Grima saw humanity, grace. But everytime the thought emerged that maybe she was misunderstood, he reminded himself that a wolf in sheep's clothing could easily fool anyone if it tried hard enough.

And then finally there was Grima himself. The man, the demon, the legend, who nearly brought a nation to it's knees with a flick of his tongue. And despite what Aragorn may think, or what Eomer undoubtedly assumed, deep down inside of himself he still didn't regret it. He had _power_ then. Those times were good. Of course he had power now, over this ragtag team of people, but once you have as much power as he had, it's hard to get back from that.

He sat on the ground, right next to the fire, soaking up the warmth of it and whittling on a stick. Hearing a soft click, he looked up and saw Darula laying down, watching him intently from the ground.

"Was that you?" He whispered.

"Was what me?" She whispered back.

"That noise."

She stayed still and silent, the sound coming again, a little closer. She jumped a little. "No." Darula stood up and called out to the woods, "Hello?"

"Is that Torchwood?" A voice came from the forest, a little panicked sounding, yet not unbeleivably so, and quite recognizable.

"Of course it's Torchwood."

Grima was only expecting to see Lord Elrond, and perhaps Legolas, but out of the trees there came three more elves, and Elrond said,

"We weren't expecting to run into you. But there is an urgent matter we must tell you."

"I'm sure we already know."

"That Gil-Galad is trying to gather soldiers to wage war with the world?"

"Yes."

"Did you also know that those he's gathering seem to be under some sort of hypnosis?"

Grima said nothing. Tern groaned, trying to sleep, as Lucian who was attempting the same thing, threw a stick at the still awake members of the travelling party.

"No." Darula said for him, looking at him with heightened alarm. "Come, sit with us, tell us everything."

As they sat, they made introductions, and Grima realized, that when Elrond travelled with friends, he didn't screw around. These were _big_ names in history, and they were his _in-laws_. Of course, even Elrond himself was a big name in history. But, even then...

"I've heard much about you, Grima." Celeborn looked down at him, partially because of a height difference, and partially because it was the way with Celeborn. Not because the elf-lord was unbearably condescending, but simply because the older an elf got the more ethereal they seemed to mortal beings. And Hell, wasn't he old?

"Oh, really, anything good?"

He looked confusedly at the smaller man, not understanding the joking attempt. "Nothing whatsoever."

Grima shrugged. "Didn't think so."

Galadriel held the arm of her husband and said, "Though we are glad you are assuming this tremendous responsibility. It can't be safe." She seemed to be looking through him.

"With all due respect, my lady, nothing I do is safe."

Out of seemingly nowhere, and completely off the point, she said, "You were not meant for this destiny."

"And who told you that?" He could hear whispers, names, echoing in the back of his mind. She was getting inside his psyche, he knew.

"I can sense it. You are too lost to be a saviour. I know-"

"Don't do that." He pushed her out of his mind and she nearly jumped back. No one had ever sucessfully recoiled from her without her consent. "Don't." He knew she'd seen his true self, and suddenly he felt exposed before all these elves, and he hated it. He felt Darula's fingertips brush his knuckles. "Don't." He said to her once more.

"Very well." She squinted knowingly, sensing his discomfort.

"Let's just hear what happened."

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It was decided in the morning that Legolas would go on to warn Aragorn about the coming hardship, and the rest would go with Torchwood, to help gather an army. Perhaps, Grima had said, if they had trustworthy elves with them, they could gather men easier.

They were wrong.

After a few weeks, Grima finally said,

"Screw this. I know somewhere where we can definitely get some help. It's not far." By this time, they were far enough North. Already they had passed through Lothlorien.

The elves didn't much like passing through the forest. They kept remarking on how beautiful it was, almost lamenting at it's loss of the blessing of the elve's presence. And it was sad, Grima knew. But it didn't affect him as much as he thought it would. As an 'evil' man, he had natural fear of genuine goodness, yet no longer. The elves had left Middle Earth and he felt then, that all genuine goodness in the world had dissapated. A welcome relief in his veiw.

"And where is that?" Celebrain asked coldly. After all these weeks, she was the only one who still hadn't warmed up to him or the rest of Torchwood just a little bit. And nnone of the elves would talk to Darula, still.

It was like travelling with teenage girls, in Tern's opinion.

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**Thanks for reading!**


	12. Walled In

Darkness was just beginning to creep onto the plains. Grima led the group, ducking into a small patch of six foot tall underbrush and taking a series of unpredictable turns. Soon every member of the party was lost and they began to feel uneasy. Until he led them out into a clearing, that is. They seemed to be atop a hill, yet none had felt like they were walking up any sort of an incline, and in a deep depression in the ground there stood, erect, arguably the largest actual house any of them had ever seen. Sure, they'd seen castles, and even the tree lofts the elves lived. But this was a house, and as far as size, it was almost mansion-like in proportion. But it truely didn't look like a soul had lived there in hundreds of years. It looked old, worn, dusty, broken beyond repair. The windows were broken, the roof had holes in it, as did the walls. Once every twenty seconds or so, the elves could swear they saw something flit by out of the corner of their eye.

"This is it." Grima huffed, beginning to descend the hill.

"It's what, exactly?" Darula followed.

"Help."

"From in there?" Celbrain's voice portrayed the confusion the rest of the party was experiencing. "It doesn't look like anyone's lived there for ages."

"Looks can be deceiving, my dear elf."

Celebrain made a face.

Grima walked straight up to it and actually _knocked_ on the door of this abandoned building with little reserve. They heard a soft clattering inside and a young girl, hardly seventeen, opened the door. From what they could see out of the failing light of nightfall and the utter darkness of the house, she was small, standing about a half-head shorter than Grima, her eyes impossibly huge and an odd dark cream color. Her hair, black as night, hung lank around her face, and her skin was, it seemed, rather dirty.

"Why, hello!" She chirped jovially, seemingly happy to see Grima.

"Raheal." He acknowledged her by what the rest could only assume was her given name, standing rigid in the doorway, backed by Torchwood plus all the wayside elves they'd picked up on the way here.

"Oh, don't be so austere, brother, come in! She threw her arms around his neck and held him tight for a moment, eyes closed, before backing away and opening the door a little further. Upon entering the group could hear snarls and growls that came from within the darkness beyond, which died down and retreated when the girl turned about and spoke to the darkness in a chittery, fast-paced language that was strictly unrecognizable. When the sound died down, it was replaced by whispers in the same language.

"Brother?" Legolas asked this single word, not sounding particularly confused or even interested, but had assumed the rest of the party would be looking for an answer.

"Yes, Rahael is my half-sister. We share a mother."

"Oh really?" Legolas thought, perhaps rather cruelly, _infidelity in the Wormtongue family, how surprising._ "How did your father take that?"

"He was willing to let mother keep her, actually, until he found out what her and her father truley were. And then she was cast out."

"Grima," The girl named Rahael spoke, by now she was halfway across the front room, in order to get a better look at the strangers. "The twins came looking for you not two days ago. Are you in trouble?"

"The twins?" Elrond asked.

"Brothers of mine." Grima dismissed the question, if only to hear a sigh of exasperation from behind him.

"_By the Valar, Grima, how many siblings do you have?_"

"If you count the one that's dead, five. This is the last one, I swear."

"Grima," Raheal said, standing closer this time, no one heard her move. They noticed for the first time, she said his name differently, perhaps with an accent. Rather than the way they had heard and said it, 'Gree-mah', she said it more like, 'Gr-ih-mä', "You came here with elves!" It was difficult to tell if she was excited or appalled.

"Yes."

"What was it like?" She bowed her head and creeped closer, like a spooked animal.

Grima stood and looked around in the darkness, trying to thing a a singular word to describe it. Finally deciding he couldn't, he settled for, "Not all it's cracked up to be."

She sauntered closer, coming to stand on her toes to be face-even with her brother, studying him. "What a strange creature you grown up to be." She seemed to inhale deeply near his face. She looked him down, turning her whole head, and then back up, using only her eyes before twisting and coming uncomfortably close to Elrond. "Care to introduce us?"

She looked intently at every detail on the elf in front of her, more with curiosity than anything, and he shifted with discomfort.

"This is Lord Elrond, of Rivendell, you know Lucian, Tern, a member of Torchwood, Celeborn and Galadriel, Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, and Darula."

With each name she would tilt her head, come closer, something to indicate profound interest, look them over, sometimes even sniff at them. She finally reached Darula and said, "Hello, Orc." very cheerily, sniffing at her more than she had the others, and to everyone's surprise, including Raheal's, Darula sniffed back.

Rahael recoiled in confusion for a moment, then smiled, showing for the first time pointed canine-like teeth in full veiw, then stepped, twisting her body like a snake, to one side of Darula much like a playful ferret. Darula smiled back and seemed ready to return the action, when Grima interrupted, asking,

"Rahael, where's Nicolai?"

She straightened suddenly, turning to her half-brother with a darkened expression. "Daddy's on a hunting trip. We don't expect him back for another day or two."

"And he left you all without a leader?"

"No. Daddy left me in charge." She smiled wildly. "You can leave, if you want. But if you really have to speak with my father that bad, I'll clear some places for you to sleep."

"That would suit admirably, thank you."

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Of course the elves had elected to stay together, taking one small room, and keeping mostly to themselves. Tern and Lucian took to each other, over the course of the journey they had befriended one another, this left Grima and Darula together. He lit every candle he could find, grumbling on to himself that he couldn't stand the way the werewolves had always insisted on dwelling in darkness.

Arguably the same thing happened in the room of the elves, and in the dim light they spoke amongst themselves.

"Does that man really believe that these creatures will help us."

"Precisely what I was wondering. Werewolves are not particularly known for their ability to ally on the side of Light."

"Perhaps that is exactly what Grima is hoping. We are, in fact, fighting against the Light this time."

"Were some of them not allied with Saurondirun The War?"

"I agree. We cannot trust them."

A low canine growl interrupted their discussion, and the elves looked about, trying to find it's source, before hearing a little shift in motion above them, looking up to see Rahael crouching in the rafters.

"Were you... spying on us?" Celebrain seemed angry at this intrusion.

"It's my house, I'll run surveillance on it if I wish." She said, eyes narrowing with purposefully poorly-veiled hatred, leaping down and landing lightly on the floor baords below. "May I ask you something?"

Celebrain opened her mouth to speak, but in an attempt to diffuse the situation, Celeborn cut her off. "By all means."

"What are a bunch of big-name, history making, high-elves like you doing traipsing around the world with a man like my brother?"

"He is attempting to stop the world from spiraling into oblivion. We have no choice but to assist him. For we have first-handedly seen what could be."

She smirked. "He has that affect on people." And without further adeiu, she skipped out of the room.

In the next room over, Darula said to Grima, "So, finally alone together, are we?"

He shrugged. "Yes, I suppose." Reaching over to his bag, he pulled out a few papers, something he kept with him at all times during the trip. They were those papers he had deemed important enough to steal from the library. He began to read them.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Fire away."

"That Eowyn girl, why do you two not get along?"

He visibly tensed. "Darula..."

"And, I mean you barely talked in Rohan. I've been watching you, Grima, and you... you looked... sad. But not just the normal sad, but tired, too. And angry. I still see it in you."

"Don't..."

"I could help."

"No, you really couldn't."

"Please."

"You shouldn't."

"Let me help."

For a moment the room filled with silence. Then, sighing, Grima said, "A man I knew once told me, that out of any combination of words in the english language, that the most sincere are 'Let me help.' Even over 'I love you.'"

"Then let me inside."

He looked over at her, and no matter how hard he tried to hide it, she could see his eyes watering, not yet crying. "I can't."

She leaned closer to him, slowly, and her lips barely brushed his cheek. He turned in full, grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her, hard, but with little feeling. He pushed her away suddenly.

"Nevermind." He said and looked away from her.

She touched his arm. "Do you know when the last time I was with a man was, Grima?"

"Um..." He gulped, speaking faster than necessary he said, "Well, I can't assume you died too long ago and you are, after all an Orc, a member of a race that isn't exactly renowned for it's celibacy."

She smiled. "A _man_ Grima."

"We can't."

"I was one of the first to change. I missed humanity more than I thought I would."

"The wolves..."

"I don't think the wolves care, Grima."

"But,"

"Please. We could help each other." She whispered. He nodded, finally, and took her hand.


	13. In Theory

**I'd say I wrote this for you guys because I haven't written in a while but this is really a back-handed way of getting my mind off the AP Exam I have to take tomorrow. Sorry for the Stream of Conciesness peice. I couldn't help myself.**

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We are alive like these. We lie on the floor, facing each other and each of us finds in the other, a soul. In two such as us, a sould is hard to find. One gave hers up, the other hides his. Because he once bore his soul and showed it's truth and he was almost killed because of it. One of us reaches out and touches the others face and is reminded of a time, years ago, when he did the same to a maiden with flaxen hair. One who deep inside was as hard as ice and stone. But the woman whose face he carressed was not this girl, and she did not shy away from his touch. We lie on the floor, which is dusty and we sleep.

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Nicolai dragged the body of the poor bastard who fell prey to the lycanthrope, up to the hulking mass of house. It was a shame, and many times Nicolai felt remorse for his state, but werewolves had to eat as well, and nothing matched up to human meat in the opinion of his pack. So he dragged the body by the neck into his house, where he was greeted by many friends, sniffing at him and the catch, greeting him, and telling him he had visitors. He dropped the body, letting his pack go wild on it and walked up the stairs where his friends had told him these visitors were waiting, his feet barely making noise and his mouth covered in old blood. As he approached, he could definitely smell something... something strange, but pleasant, almost sickeningly sweet and he realized,

_Elves._

He followed his nose through the dark and dusty atmosphere of the "Lair" as some of the pack liked to call it. In the room he found several strangers, two humans he had never seen before, and four elves seemed just perfectly at home in his territory. He recognized Grima, Lucian, and his own daughter, who stood by the strangers like they were glued together. He stalked into the room and gave the people a good look at him. They saw he was not very tall, but in all respects rather large. Nicolai was a very heavy set man, with long, straight brown hair he kept tied back and peircing yellow eyes, like the wolves you hear about in horror stories. He sauntered up to get a close look at the strangers, not saying a word while the uncomfortable silence lingered an was only filled by the sound of Nicolai's footsteps, the ruckus downstairs, and Grima's jittery, irregular breathing.

He tilted his head at the elves. "I've heard stories about you lot." He stated, and nothing more, then said to Darula. "And you are not human."

She looked about, and he could smell the fear of her. "No."

He nodded. That was all the proof he needed to know what she really was. He looked over Tern, and decided he was harmless, before turning to Grima expectantly.

"Listen, Nicolai, you have been a great friend to me for a long time. And we... we need your help."

"What could you possibly be doing that would require them?" He jerked his head toward the elves, who looked at each other, seemingly offended, but totally brought to heel by their current situation.

Grima told him the whole story, totally unabridged, right up to the moment where they stood, and Nicolai stood there, arms crossed, listening. "... so I thought maybe, you would have something in the library wecould reference. Anything. Nicolai, please."

He shook his head. "Grima, that will be a lovely story to tell to your children or neices an nephews, if ever have any, but it doesn't concern me. I am only concerned about the safety of my own people, and we can hold our own against of frilly elves, no offense," he held a hand out to the four in the room. "because we do not live by any code of honour that hinders us from an outright massacre. No one in their right mind would take us on."

"That's the thing though! He's not is his right mind. Don't you see?"

"I'm sorry." And with that Nicolai nodded to each person and stalked out of the room while Lucian fell to his knees and rubbed his temples.

"This bloody end of the world business is getting on my nerves." He said. "So just exactly what the Hell are we going to do now?"

"Well, I suggest we keep walking towards our next best bet."

"You two, you seem awfully calm that the world might be utterly destroyed." Darula cut in.

"Well, will panicking get the issue resolved any faster? Did panicking make Nicolai help us?" Grima asked, with little inflection to his voice.

Darula narrowed her eyes and said nothing. He looked around the group, and finally said, "This way." And began walking.

"Grima! Wait!" A voice called from the distance and the elves could hear somone crashing through the underbrush. Soon, Rahael burst forth from the grass on the "legs", and in one arm she held a book, thick and heavy, with more pages than could be counted. She handed it to Lucian. "I stole it for you. Take me with you."

Grima took the book from Lucian and thumbed through it, then looked over it to Rahael and said, "No."

"Why not?!"

"It's too dangerous. You could get hurt."

"But Grima-"

"I said no."

Rahael shrunk back a little, and turned to leave when Lucian grabbed his brother's arm. "Grima, if it's of any value, my thoughts on the matter?"

After much speculation, Grima permitted his younger brother to go ahead.

"I think, she's an adult now, you should let her make her own choices."

Lucian and Grima had a staredown for a few moments, Lucian seemed to plead with Grima to agree with him and Grima had to judge if he trusted Lucian's judgement enough to endanger the life of their baby sister. Finally, turning back to look in the book for the spell that might help them summon something from the other side, he said, "Fine.", and upon finding such a spell, "We could easily find all of this in under 30 minutes. Rahael, Darula, you go find the nearest abandoned building, Lucian, Tern, get some wood, we'll need a fire. You four," He said to the elves, "With me, if you please."

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